


Like the air in my lungs

by LesEnfantsPleurent



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Don't Try This At Home, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I got drunk and here's the fic, Little Mermaid Elements, Monster Lover, No beta we die like mne, Nudity, Romance, Self-Reflection, Thoughts of Suicide, Wilbur Soot-centric, because mermaid bras are dumb, for the mermaid, good ending, it gets less angsty when i stopped drinking, mermaid au, more romantic then the little mermaid, no for the ccs, not cute mermaids, shipwreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28567926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesEnfantsPleurent/pseuds/LesEnfantsPleurent
Summary: The end is near, but at least we're not alone.In which shipwrecked Wilbur meets Mermaid Sally
Relationships: Sally the Salmon/wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot/Sally the Salmon, as they're different tags apperently, salbur
Comments: 12
Kudos: 105





	Like the air in my lungs

In all honesty, it was a miracle.

Wilbur Soot was not supposed to be alive. Breaths should not enter his lungs, he should not be feeling pangs of hunger, his heart should not be beating a slow but steady beat in his chest. 

He was supposed to have perished over a week ago when he was first stranded in the middle of the ocean, on a flimsy wooden boat that collected more water then it seemed to keep out, with his precious guitar, a small knife Techno gave him as a safety measure, and the wet clothes off his back. Then again, he did spend a good part of his so far solo journey unconscious, and so could only make a guess on time spent. 

The pangs in his stomach made a reasonably good clue, however.

And so, with nothing but the sky, the sun and the endless expense of blue around him, Wilbur Soot drifts off in the direction the sea decides.

In all honesty, it's a miracle. Unfortunately, miracles tend to run out eventually.

-

It is at some point, in between countless naps and time spent gazing at the sky for help, that some sort of melancholy settles itself in his heavy chest. He'd cry if he had tears, he'd scream if he didn't fear his throat bleeding, and he'd mourn himself if he could for the life of him have a coherent thought. 

What is living but a brief pause between two expenses of nothing.

Devoid of time, of focus and of hope, the desperate do as the desperate do. And if there's anything Wilbur knows anymore, it is that he wants to die doing what he loves- _ loved _ most. 

And so, with fatigued muscles humming under his skin and his head throbbing a painful melody, the young man manages to grab his beloved instrument. It took hours, maybe even days, to bring the light wooden box to his chest, but what is time for a man waiting for it to tick down.

With the guitar firmly on his chest, his left hand holding the neck firmly, Wilbur lets his right hand glide against the strings. The sound it made, a sound he'd heard many thousand times before, was almost enough to make his eyes water. It probably would have if he wasn't severely dehydrated. 

And so, with the dedication of a man with nothing to lose, Wilbur strummed his pride and joy, eyes closed and a tired smile on gracing his lips.

It was out of tune, and his arm hurt too much to reach the higher frets, but the sound was almost religious to his ears. 

And so, the little scrap piece of wood floats in between blue infinities, soft, hopeful songs escaping it, before disappearing in the vast expense that is the world.

He couldn't say how long it had been, only that he reluctantly stopped when his fingers couldn't move anymore.

And so it is with a gentle melody that Wilbur Soot says goodbye to the world.

\--

So, it does come true as a surprise for himself and the world when he gains consciousness again.

The headache is still there, but instead of sharp claws tearing into his skull, it's more like gentle petting. His entire body was sore, yes, but more like a post-workout soreness and less like a trauma-based kind.

It is almost like he imagined the pain.

With careful movements, he opened his eyes, gazing at the afternoon sun as if he'd never seen it before. Slow blinking and with mindful movements, making sure his guitar was safe from the water outside the small boat, Wilbur manages to push himself into a sitting position, half leaning against the wooden planks. 

The view from outside the walls is exactly as he dreaded, empty expanses of blue in all visible directions. No help that could have come from anyone else.

~~ (or if they had, they'd healed him and left him stranded, but Wilbur prefers not to think about that) ~~

The passage of time fades without the presence of a constant, so Wilbur has no reference to how long he spent sitting there, gazing out into the endless blue, debating if he actually died.

Eventually, when the faintest impression of stars started being seen in the darkening sky, he decided that he might have been spared now ( _ how- _ ). That was just extending his suffering, however, as he'd never manage to last in the middle of nowhere with no knowledge or tools. And so, he decides he might as well keep playing his music for whatever time he has left.

As he settles himself carefully into a new position to somewhat fit his long legs in the boat and picks up his precious instrument, Wilbur spots a small white plastic bag attached to a string to the very edge of his ship,  _ suspiciously out of sight from the position he was laying in before _ . 

Intrigued and vaguely worried, he manages to manoeuvre around enough to catch the string with one hand. He then proceeded to reel it in until he could grasp the bag firmly. He pulled it in, dropped it in between his knees and opened it in a flurry.

Oh.

In it was protein bars galore, surrounded by small sealed water bottles, the labels having been bleached by saltwater. Wilbur felt his stomach growling, yearning for him to try one of them out. Never one to try and restrain his impulses, he hastily ripped open the delicate packet, shoved the entire bar into his mouth, and almost moaned from the sheer relief of finally eating something, the familiar dark chocolate and cherry heavenly on his tongue.

That was great, that could sustain him for a while, that was-

That was  _ very _ suspicious.

Wilbur froze with the realization, his aching stomach protesting at the sudden stop of nutrients. He gazed down at the small pieces of tin foil he had shredded in his haste. 

He was sure there wasn't anything on the boat when he was  _ (pushed in, panic screams-)  _ when he first got in. How likely was it for the ship to catch onto the specific bag on its own? Not very likely, no.

That would mean that-

_ No _

Wilbur would not think about that. He's not sure he could deal with that fact. 

And so, with little attention to the miraculous food and water, he grabs his guitar in his hands and starts on a song. Nothing that music can't distract him from. This time, however, he could sing, and so he takes full advantage of it.

" _ The cute bomber jacket you've had since sixth form- _ "

\---

When the morning light hits his eyelids and consciousness comes back to him, Wilbur thinks it might have been one of the best nights of sleep he had since he got stranded in the ocean. Without the massive aches and the thoughts of certain death, one could really appreciate the gentle rocking of the ocean and the warmth of morning air, almost cajoling in the way it wraps around his face.   
  
And so it is with calm and a practically lazy atmosphere that he opens his eyes.   
  
Only to promptly shriek when he noticed the new plastic bag tied to the edge of the boat.   
  
Now, Wilbur was ready to accept it once. Twice was too much, even for a believer like him.   
  
So a second bag was deliberately attached to his boat by someone.   
  
There’s no other feasible way.    
  
Wilbur’s heart raced, the beating resonating in his ears, his breathing sped up.    
  
“Someone’s come by. And they’ve left me”. His voice sounded far to his own ears, his lungs screaming from the lack of air, eyes wide, staring at the plastic like it held all the answers, trembling fingers that seemed to shake more and more violently  _ and- _

_ Deep breaths _ , he suddenly reminds himself, slipping his head in between his knees.  _ Count slowly. 1-2-3, exhale, 1-2-3,inhale. _ _  
_ _  
_ When his breath is more under control, and he doesn’t feel his pulse as harshly as before, he allows his eyes to peel open and stares at the offending bag, still slowly floating behind the boat.    
  
Slowly, as if any sudden movements would send him back into a panic attack, he maneuvers around the terribly small boat to grab at the bag, hauling it with one hand again. He opens it, only to find it half full of protein bars. His eyes widen. Not just any protein bar, no, but many copies of the same exact 70% dark chocolate with added cherries that he ate yesterday when he first found the bag and in which he indulged himself over the day.

He wasn’t only brought provision. He was being  _ watched _ .   
  
The mere thought made anger bubble up in his throat.   
  
_ How dare they?  _ Here he was, losing his goddamn mind, unable to move more than a centimetre, stuck in the middle of the ocean for gods know how long, and they were watching?    
  
A quick glance around revealed no obvious camera, no drone or anything similar, the only sign of life darker spots deep below him.   
  
And so, rage still clouding his judgement, he throws the bag as far as he can, tinfoil snacks spilling out to sink out into the ocean.

_ If that’s how it’s going to be _ , he thinks bitterly, watching the bag fade from view,  _ then I’m not cooperating. _

\----

And so it goes. Every time he falls asleep, he checks the ocean to make sure he’s alone, and every time he wakes up, there’s another bag tied to the end of his boat. Every time, he carefully reels it in before throwing it out, the contents barely touched.    
  
Whoever was watching him, however, seemed to interpret his actions as a dislike of the contents, making sure to never fill it with new things every single time.

The food bars were slowly shifting into other flavours, and when those were apparently unfit, they gradually turned into other objects. Anything from fruit like berries (he didn’t try them) to random items like a broken camera and a shattered mirror could be found within.

(Wilbur made sure to throw this one as far as he could, he didn’t want to know what he looked like)

It’s only on the 5th bag that Wil seriously reconsidered his choice. His stomach was groaning up a storm, and he barely had the energy to tune his guitar. Still, however, he wasn’t that lost yet. He even systematically checked the surroundings upon waking (never anything but the distant fish under the boat) before carefully reeling in the bag. This time, he barely manages to heave it in, as weakened as he was. In it is but a small booklet, the pages clearly recently dried. A little fountain pain adorned with a sea shell tumbles out from the pages when he opened it, resting in his lap. His heart leaps in his throat.  _ Maybe? _ He turns to the first page.

It’s blank.

His heart falls through his chest straight into his stomach. They’re making fun of him. The one moment they could have communicated with him, anonymously, and they didn’t. He feels like crying.

He grabs the booklet by the spine and brings his arm over his shoulder, preparing his shot. He mastered the project to throw both far and straight, you see but hasn’t managed to try it out with this big of an object. He aims, he prepares and-

_ “NO!”  _

He stops, arm mid-throw.

Was that- _ was that a voice? _

His head whips around to find the owner of the voice.

Nothing but the eternal blue. He hasn’t imagined it, however. He dares.

“Hello?” His voice is hoarse; he hasn’t been able to sing in a few days. It gets lost in the silence of the ocean. 

“Is someone there?” Silence

“Please… I’m not mad, I swear. Please, I’m begging you, I just want to talk.”

Silence again. Until-

“No.” The voice is distinctively female, Wilbur remarks almost mindlessly, trying to label it in any way possible.

“No? No what? What are you saying no to? Please, I want to help.” He’s not above begging, him, lost to time and sea as he is. Time passes.

“Down.” The voice was fuzzy, almost as if through a low-quality phone or-

His gaze drifts to the waves around his boat. 

“Are you under the water? Do you need help? There’s not a lot of space here but-”

“No.” Dismissive. Wilbur swallows, a sudden reminder of how dry his throat is.

“Ok, you don’t want to come up. Down. What could down mean? Do you want me to come down? Is there something down there?” No answer.

“Do you… do you want me to put it down?” Low purring-like noise emerges from the deep. Good, confirmation. Wilbur immediately puts the book and the pen in the bag, making sure to keep it safe from the occasional waves. The purring stops. 

The silence is almost invasive, after the pleasant company of someone else, however brief. It can probably also be blamed for Wilbur’s sudden lack of manners. 

“Can I see you?” No answer, yet again.

“Please, I’ve been alone for so long; I just want to speak to someone. Please, so I make sure I’m not alone.” Waves crashing into each other. Then-

A splash is heard behind him. He twists around as fast as he could.

Before him, floating casually in the water, stands one of the most gorgeous women Wilbur had ever seen. Her dark skin shimmered where the sun hit the wet skin. Her face looked like it was taken from a painting, delicate features on a similarly soft frame. Two bright orange eyes stared into his soul, bright spots in an otherwise dark night sky, only rivalled by the locks of auburn red hair cascading down her front to pool into the ocean. Everything below her chest was lost in the dark blue ripples that formed around her.

Wil thought she was the prettiest person he saw in his life. He smiles.

“Hello.” She doesn’t smile back, only keeps her gaze trained on his form. If Wilbur can make Techno talk on a bad day, he can communicate with her. He grabs the bag, and her eyes follow.

“Is this yours?” She keeps staring at him, seemingly unable to understand. They’ve already managed to communicate, however, so that’s not the problem. Wilbur takes a leap of faith.

“Yes?” he nods, making sure to point at his head movement “or No?” Shakes his head from left to right, exaggerating. Then he points at the book again, “Yours?”

Slowly, as if confused, the lady nods. Wilbur felt a wave of pride bubble up in his chest. Progress. He grabs onto the bag tightly, holding it to his chest.

“Thank you. It’s very pretty,” She nods. He places it back on the boat to avoid losing it in the ocean. She’s still there, watching him balance precariously on the makeshift boat. He stares at her back, committing all her details to memory. They stay like that, observing each other for longer than is appropriate. Wil’s a man of words, however, and has been in silence for too long to continue.

“Are you the one who brought me things?” She stares at him vacantly. He motions the bag. She nods. A small smile pulls at his lips.

“Thank you.” He nods his head once slowly at her. She repeats the gesture tentatively, and Wilbur has to resist a laugh at her caution.

“Why did you bring me food?” He risks after a while. Their eyes make contact, rich earth delving into the sunset. No answer. Just as he’s about to try again, another question already prepared on his tongue, an odd sound reaches his ears.

It’s rhythmic, it’s slow and rises and falls and-

Wilbur knows that song.

Wilbur  _ wrote _ that song.

He’s been playing that song almost every day upon waking, an excellent way to start up the day and boost his fluctuating moral. 

He immediately grabs his guitar and settles it into his lap, strumming the first cord in time with her singing. Her humming like noises barely stops before coming back in full force, more guttural this time, as if self-assured. Wilbur lets her take the lead, only strumming and keeping his eyes on her.

She closes her eyes and tilts her head towards the sky and her lips part ever so slightly, and Wilbur’s fallen for her faster than time itself.

The song doesn’t last long enough for his taste, and soon, she stops humming, letting them both listen to the final chord fade to nothing. She opens her eyes to meet his slowly nods her head once before falling backwards.

_ Thank you. _

If Wilbur wasn’t entirely focused on her, he would have missed the now visible form of her lower body just underneath the surface. But he was, and he saw with his own eyes the fish-like appendage follow her to the depth.  _ Oh _ , he considers, still to overcome by the previous events.  _ She’s a mermaid. _

His guitar still lays on his lap, his fingers gently holding the neck.

A real grin blooms on his face.

“Well,” He thinks, readjusting his posture, “Then she’ll have music.”

“Well, it's 2:45 pm..”

\-----

When Wilbur woke up next, memories of the previous day were far and hard to reach halfway through the thick fog of his dreams. Peeking through his eyelids only brought forward the same sight as always, only this time he woke up only to be greeted by the night sky. 

Sitting up in a more upright position, he barely glances around before immediately moving towards the end of the boat, where the bag usually is. His arm bats in the air, where it usually would have gotten caught against the plastic bag, and his heart falls through his stomach.

_ She-she didn’t bring him anything today. Had he scared her? She didn’t seem scared, she even seemed to be enjoying it, she asked for him to sing, why would she get scared? Did she only care for that one song? Has she gotten what she wanted from him, and will now leave him alone, with no resources and or companionship, with the knowledge of her existence an ever-present thought buzzing in his ears, but content to- _

A trill like sound reaches his ears, pulling him out of his spiralling thoughts. He glances to his left, only to be greeted with the warm eyes that haunted his dreams this time. Relief coursed through his body, all his worries instantly vanished, and a genuine smile pulled at his lips. She came.

She was still in the water, gazing at him expectantly, eyebrows furrowed in what Wil might misguidedly call worry, her shoulders barely above the sea level. More importantly, in his eyes, she was very close to the boat and, therefore, to him, barely a meter away.  _ She trusted him _ .

“Hello!” He greets her, his voice tinged by the pure joy of seeing her. She trills at him, a small smile pulling at her lips. He might have passed out from that alone, had it not shorten his time with her.

“Would you like anything? A song perhaps?” She seemed to like those last time; perhaps it will work this time as well.

She shakes her head, her auburn locks sending water droplets everywhere. 

“No?” He questions, ”What else can I give you?”

She trills joyously, shaking her head again, before slowly advancing towards the boat. Wilbur holds his breath when she settles her hand on the side of the boat. She looks at him questioningly before using her other hand to point at something.  _ Oh _ , he realizes, disappointment flavouring his mouth. She _ wants her book back. _ Slowly, as not to scare her, he shifts around until he can grab the plastic bag they’ve been trading lately and lays it in her open palm. He doesn’t dare touch her, not when she apparently trusts him enough to be this close to her.

She just shoots him a strange look at his move, her head cocked to the side and questions in her eyes. 

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” He questions her. Her eyes are still trained on his figure before she shakes her head again, more violently this time. 

With practiced care but emotional hurry, she unravels the small knot holding the objects contain, picks up the little booklet and pen, before holding them out to him, holding herself over the edge by the armpits.  _ Oh. _

He accepts the gift a second time, then.

“Is this for me?” He can’t help but question. By how protective of the book she seemed last time, he can’t help but doubt the situation he was in. She nods, trills, and pushes the book further in his direction. 

Carefully, as if to let her back away from the situation, he grabs the items in his sun-kissed hands, only briefly touching skins with her. The small scale-like texture might have made him uncomfortable in any other situation, but this time, there’s but relief at finally feeling another living being. She stares at his hands after he pulls them away, and Wilbur hopes that maybe if the Sky Gods were particularly nice that day, she too liked their touch.

Whatever thoughts were running through her head, they are instantly dismissed with a shake of the head. She then promptly gathers the bag close to her and lets go of the boat, disappearing into the ocean. Wil almost falls over, rushing to that side, bending over the edge in the slim hope that maybe, just maybe, she still was there. No signs of her, no matter how hard Wilbur strains his eyes to make out any sort of shape from the seafloor. But no. Wilbur is once again alone.

He settles back into a more comfortable position, his back against the edge, staring at the small booklet in his hands.  _ She wanted her bag back, that’s fine, it’s hers after all. It was nice of her to give him the book. She didn’t have to. He’ll make sure to take care of it and to cherish it for however long he still has, whether or not he spends the rest of his time on this little piece of wood, that which seems both a lifesaver and his constant nightmare, both- _

Arms wrap themselves around his neck from behind, and a wet chin settles itself in the crook of his neck, and he  _ jumps. _

The arms let him go, and the water ripples violently from the impact, and he almost falls overboard  _ again _ but manages to catch himself on the rim last second with one hand, the other clutching the precious gifts close to his chest. His heart’s pounding in his ears. A shrill sound he starts to love pierces the cloud of panic, and he turns around to face her.

She’s clearly laughing, laying on her back in the water, gazing up at him and a wide grin displaying pearly whites, the shrill laughs still echoing in the air. He takes a single breath to calm himself down before grinning at her back. It gains him another laugh from the mermaid and an exciting pat on the water. She pulls herself back into an upright position before hooking herself on the edge of the boat with her armpits again.

She makes grasp like movements towards him, not unsimilar to how a toddler would ask for something, and Wilbur can’t help but indulge her.

He slowly puts the book and pen down where they wouldn’t get wet and shifts himself to be within her reach. 

He wasn’t expecting her to grab his face and bring it closer to hers.

Let it be known that while Wilbur isn’t calm like Phil, strong like Techno or loud like Tommy, he sure as hell can be charismatic, and when a pretty mermaid grabs his face to pet his face and hair, he does not scream in her face. 

No, in fact, he does the exact opposite. He allows the pretty lady to gently hold his face between her hands and to rub her thumbs against his cheeks softly, to follow his jawline with an index and to gently brush his eyelids with the pad of her fingers.  _ This might be the first time she met a human _ , Wil rationalizes, trying his hardest to stay immobile under the gentle ministrations.  _ She’s just curious. _

The petting goes on for a few minutes, the soft hands exploring his face and his mouth before moving up and tugging gently at his hair. She smiles adorably whenever she pulls on a curl, and it moves back into place. Wil feels peaceful for the first time in a while, regaling in her touch.

“Pretty.” Wilbur’s eyes fly open at the sound, pulling his face away to better stare at her. She shifts to rest on her elbows, her face resting against one hand, the impish smile still gracing her lips.

“What?” He sputters out, his mind racing to comprehend precisely what had happened.

“You can talk?” She gurgles at that, a clear attempt at a laugh, before nodding carefully. Wilbur is stumped.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Her smile falls ever so slightly, and he regrets his question instantly. She shrugs before placing a hand on her throat and meeting his gaze.

“Hurts.” Her voice was indeed raspy like sandpaper, but Wilbur could still hear the undertones of a dulcet soprano voice shining through. He nods immediately and offers her a smile.

“That’s ok, you don’t have to talk. I can talk for both of us.” She gurgles again in delight, and Wilbur decides that that might be one of his favourite sounds.

She lowers herself back into the water carefully, still holding onto the boat, before hissing up the bag she had reclaimed to the surface. She then carefully untied the plastic knot and pulled out an energy bar. 

His stomach immediately growls, the hunger that’s been plaguing his thoughts comes suddenly back in full force. She smiles and reinstalls herself on the edge of the boat before tearing the wrapper apart with her sharp claw-like nails and holds out the food to his face.

When he lifts his arm to try and grab the energy bar, she playfully bats away at his hand and holds the snack up to his fast. Wilbur immediately understood.

He bends down ever so slightly to bite onto the bar, tearing off a chunk and thoroughly chewing, relieved to finally have something in his stomach. She gurgles again and shoves the bar closer once again. Wilbur can’t help but smile.

_ He’ll be ok _ .

\------

And so the time flies.

He’s still in his little safe haven of a boat, floating towards nothing at all, as he has been since he first got stranded in the middle of nowhere. Now, however, he has a companion greeting him upon his waking with a bag full of exciting objects she wanted to try out with him.

Systematically, he’d sit up from whatever spot he’d have found himself in, only to be greeted by gorgeous eyes and soft laughs. Once or twice, he even woke up to the gentle way she’d run her damp, scally fingers through his increasingly long locks. From anyone else, Wilbur might have asked them to stop, but being stranded alone for weeks on end has brought forth a new wonder for the intimacies of human (ish) contact.

~

_ “Soft” _

_ “Is it? I haven’t had the chance to take care of it lately. I’m happy you still find it soft.” _

_ A giggle _

_ “Pretty.” _

_ ~ _

He’d greet her every morning with a smile, and she’d giggle. She’d even started parroting words he often used when she was in a better mood. He’d get a shy “Hello!” or a “Hi!” from her from time to time, and it made his heart soar every single time. He’d even start using other words in the hopes that she'd pick up on those as well, and while it was a slow and laborious process, every little milestone reached felt like euphoria, and Wil felt like it was worth the effort. He’d even manage to introduce himself to her, and the sound of his name on her accented tongue was a memory he was sure to take with him to the grave.

~

_ “Wilbur.” He points to his chest. She giggles and nods. _

_ “Wilbur.” She parrots back, tapping his dirty sweater in the exact spot he just did. He smiles at her, teeth and all. _

_ “What’s your name?” A questioning look and the tilt of a head. He pauses momentarily, trying to figure out how exactly he’d go about demonstrating that. _

_ “Wilbur.” He pointed at his chest before pointing at hers. They held eye contact before she trilled again, grabbing his hand and guiding it to lay on his chest. _

_ “Wilbur.” She shifts the hand to lay on her. And she shrieked a horrible sound. Wilbur had to make a deliberate effort not to flinch too hard. A moment of silence passed. _

_ “How about we go with Sally?” A happy gurgle and a wide grin answered him. _

_ ~ _

Sally would bring him a bag full of new items every day, and they’d entertain themselves with the contents while he tried his best to explain the purpose and functioning of each. Some of them were much simpler, like an ancient waterlogged telescope they had fun with looking at the stars.

~

_ “ And that particular constellation is named the Big Dipper. You see that there?” _

_ A hum of acknowledgement. _

_ “It’s said to be the story of a water spirit who got involved who meddled with the affairs of Gods and got transformed into the stars as punishment.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “She was beautiful, and one of the gods decided he needed to sleep with her.” _

_ “Beautiful?” _

_ “Yeah, beautiful is like pretty.” _

_ “Wilbur beautiful.” _

_ “...I think you’re beautiful as well, Sally, thank you.” _

_ ~ _

Some of them were harder to explain, like a somehow still functioning camera.

~

_ “This is a camera. It’s to take pictures. They’re like drawings.” _

_ A head tilt. _

_ “Well, it’s hard to explain. Let me just.” He grabs the camera with both hands and aims it at her. He triggers the shutter. A bright flash comes out. _

_ Sally screams out in pain at the bright light and grabs her face before sinking back down into the sea. _

_ “No!” Too late, she’s already gone from view, the only reminder of her existence the picture he took. He grabs his face in his hands, perched over the side of the boat; he should have checked for a flash, he should have warned her, now- _

_ Wet arms wrap themselves around his neck and tug him down, pulling him into the cold water. _

_ A scream.  _

_ Through his panic, he can only hear her soft gurgles, that sound distinctly more like laughter underwater, and their arms wrapping themselves under his armpits. _

_ She pulls him to the surface, and he immediately inhales as much air as he possibly could, becoming suddenly more thankful for the gas than he ever was before.  _

_ Slowly, he regulates his breathing and coughs out all the remaining salty water from his lungs. Sally still has her arms firmly around his chest, enlacing him into a quite literal life-saving hug. She’s humming one of the many songs he sang to her during their friendship.  _

_ When he feels calmer, he gently dislodges himself from her grip, ignores her sad whimper and casually swims towards his boat, disregarding his aching legs that haven’t been used much since his stranding. He pulls himself into the small ship, his roughed up clothes stained with blood from his unfortunate fall clinging to him like a second skin. He settles himself back into the boat, his legs underneath him, eyes closed, trying to let the adrenaline leave his system.  _

_ It’s barely a few minutes later that he opens his eyes only to see Sally peeking over the edge of the boat. Her eyes widen when he smiles at her, although a smaller one than he usually offers her. _

_ “Safe?” Her voice sounds almost regretful, and Wilbur couldn’t help but accept her apology. _

_ “I’m ok, thank you. Maybe warn me next time?” A firm nod. _

_ ~ _

All in all, they’ve been spending more time together than they’ve spent separated. Wilbur tries to teach her about the human world through the objects she brings and his songs and by merely talking to her. On the other hand, she tries to teach him about the ocean the only way she really knows how.

~

_ “Are you sure about this?” His clothes are off and folded next to his guitar, away from the cold waves that occasionally managed to wet the inside. _

_ Sally giggles and nods excitedly. Wilbur closes his eyes and breaths in and out slowly, a desperate attempt to calm himself and his quickening heartbeat. Well, here he goes. _

_ He leaps into the freezing water. Before he can even start panicking or warming himself up, hands gently grab his face, and warm lips attach themselves to his, and much-needed air makes its way to his lungs. Perhaps had it happen in another context, he’d have composed a song about the way her lips perfectly moulded to his and the way she kissed both shy and passionate. However, the sudden burst of warmth taking over his body was a much more vibrant sensation. _

_ The kiss was both too long and too short, but when she pulled back, and Wilbur opened his eyes to a visible ocean, he couldn’t help but grin at her. She giggled and pulled him deeper underneath the surface. _

_ It is how the two of them spent the next few hours. Sally would drag him towards a school of fish or a plant, and Wilbur would excitedly try and pet or approach it. They played around the ocean for what felt like hours, intercepted by the systematic kiss every time air started to leave Wilbur’s lungs, or he was taken over by a sudden wave of fatigue. _

_ It is only much later when they’re both sitting on a cliff edge watching the gigantic opah school maneuver around that Sally lets her head rest or his shoulder. He loops an arm around her shoulder, and she sinks herself in his hold. _

_ He shoots her a glance and sees her looking at him. He grins and nods once. _

_ Thank you _

_ ~ _

All in all, things were great. Wilbur was kept entertained, had contact with another intelligent being regularly, and had plenty to eat and drink. There were, however, moments late at night, long after Sally had left to wherever she went during the night time, where longing lodged itself in his throat.

He was grateful for Sally, he really was. But he missed home ever-increasingly much. He missed sitting with his Dad on the couch to watch a mindless TV show they’d both critique to no end. He missed laying in Techno’s bed, aimlessly playing guitar while his brother tried to read a book. He missed Tommy barging into his room at 2 in the morning, ready to tell him all about his new Minecraft game with his friend. He missed hanging out with Nikki, teasing Fundy, ruffling Tubbo’s hair. Hell, he even missed arguing with Schlatt. 

He had cried himself to sleep too many nights in a row for it to still affect him in this way, but the hopelessness of the situation was slowly dawning on him, and he didn’t think himself strong enough to live with it. He’d only ever think about it at night, however, to not worry Sally. It wouldn’t help anyone to make her sad as well.

If only things ever went the way he wanted them to.

\-------

It was a day like any other.

Sally had arrived bright and early as always, the plastic bag firmly in her grasp. He greeted her with his usual greeting, and she’d giggle and hand him the bag before latching onto the boat to avoid drifting away. He carefully undid the knot and glanced inside.

“Oh, a comb!” He pulled the thin object out, showing it to Sally, who made the appropriate noises of wonder, his lips curling at the show. No matter how many items he showed her, she still held a childlike glee at each one, and it made this activity they’ve been doing for so long still as impressive as the first one.

“Comb.” She repeated, her eyes trained on slick pieces of polished wood. All in all, it was a ridiculously lovely comb, dark oak still polished and shined, with flowers hand-carved at the base. Wil nods at her.

“It’s for brushing hair! See?” To show, he passed the tool through his own now shoulder curls, now reaching his shoulders. He tried not to wince whenever he snagged on a knot. This particular tool would prove itself particularly useful. He turned his head to gesture to the now brushed locks.

“See? It’s brushed through and softer now.” And because she always needed to touch it herself to assure herself that,  _ yes, his hair is soft, _ she reached into the boat to caress the locks, her eyes widening when she managed to pass her fingers through without getting caught.

She immediately grabs the comb herself and passes it through his hair as if to make sure that the small wooden tool was, in fact, responsible for the magic. As it apparently passed her test, she immediately goes to place it in her own hair, sinking it in her scalp, and pulling as hard as she could.

Wilbur winces with second-hand pain. He hurries over, gently grabbing onto her face to keep her centred to him. He smiles at her, and she closes her eyes and whimpers but relaxes in his grip. Slowly, with one hand still cradling her cheek, he untangles the comb from her matted locks, making sure not to bring her any additional pain. 

“There.” He softly whispers, the offending weapon now in no way connected to her mane safely in his grasp. “It’s ok; I know it hurts. You have to be careful; it can hurt.” She opens her eyes, still pouting and lays her hand on his. He smiles at the sight.

“How about I brush your hair? I’m quite experienced at it.” He motions with the comb to her hair. She glares at the piece of wood distrustingly but eventually nods at him and turns herself to be back against the boat, her hands holding the edge. He runs a hand under her hair to gather it all and pulls it into his lap before starting to comb it out.

It’s slow going, as Wilbur assumes that she had never brushed her hair before, and the number of knots he found undoubtedly pointed to that being true. He makes sure to reduce the amount of tugging he has to do.

“Humans find that having someone brush your hair feels good. Does it do that to you as well?” A loud purr left her as an answer, and a quick glance at her smiling face further proved her point.

“ Most of us with long hair do it often, actually! Why my brother he-” He cuts himself off.

Oh. 

_ Techno.  _

He used to do this to Techno when his brother first decided to let his hair grow out. He used to spend hours playing in his hair, brushing out all the possible knots and tangles, as well as finding new and elaborate ways to keep it out of the way. Gods, Wilbur missed Techno. He missed his brother so much.

“Wilbur?” The soft voice broke through his emotions, and Wilbur realized he stopped brushing, as lost in thoughts as he was. He looks up from the half combed nest to her face. Worry was apparent in her gaze.

“Ok?” She reached out with one hand to brush a thumb underneath his eye, and it’s at that moment that Wil realized he was crying.

“Oh.” Is the only thing he manages to say before cracking a small that she clearly didn’t believe in, but it was as much for her as for him. “I’m ok, don’t worry. I just got lost in thoughts there, for a bit.” 

She didn’t seem to believe him and gently cradled his cheek, much in the same way he held onto her before. _ Comfort _ .

“It’s fine. I just,” Words seem to catch in his throat, and he turns his gaze away from her questioning one, laying a hand on top of the one holding his face. “I miss my brother.”

“Brother?” She questions lowly, her eyes never straying far from his face.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, “ yeah, my brother Techno. He- he has long hair too. I used to brush his hair as well when we were kids. Even much later, when Techno could take care of his hair by himself, he’d still come to me and ask me to let me play with it. I don’t know if it was as stress relief or as a personal reward or even to chase away nightmares, but he’d come to me for some sort of comfort, and I never said no.” A small pained laugh escaped his lips. 

“He’d always take extra care to whatever hairdo I’d make him, to the point he’d refuse to wash his hair until it completely fell apart. I- he had mud once stuck in his braid crown, and he threw a fit when Phil asked him to take it out, and Tommy laughed so hard about it. I-I love them, and _ I miss them. _ ” Sally is quiet for a moment, merely taking in all she understood from his rant.

“Care?” She tentatively asks. Wil lets out a small laugh, rubbing the palms of his hands under his eyes to wipe away all the tears.

“Yeah,” he picks the comb back up and starts again at the ends, the hair long enough Sally was facing him meanwhile. “Love’s a lot like care. It’s when you care very, very much for someone. When you want someone to be happy, no matter what.” She’s silent for a moment letting him play with her hair.

“Sally love Wilbur.” She finally admits, pulling her hands back to rest on the edge of the boat. Wilbur stops and looks up to her and smiles his kindest smile at her.

“Thank you. I love you too. I’m delighted to have met you.”

“No hurt?” She sounds almost tentative. He shakes his head.

“While being with you does help, I still miss my family.” At her still questioning gaze, he continues. “ Think of it that way. How would you feel if I left and never saw me again?” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Sally was very alone before his arrival, with the speed at which she attached herself to him.

Her eyes dart down at her tail underneath her.

“Hurt.” Wil nods empathically.

“See? I’m feeling hurt because I haven’t seen people I love in a very long time. While it does help that I have you, I’m still hurt.” Something seemed to pass in her eyes for a moment before she nodded once. She turned back around, letting the entirety of her hair cascade back into his lap. He carefully resumed his work. She looked up at him.

“Song?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You want me to sing?” She nods.

“Song hurt no.” Well, when said like that.

“ Of course, you’re absolutely right.” He cleared his throat.

“Life isn't quite what I thought I'd be..” She closes her eyes and hums along, the definition of calm.

\--------

When he wakes up the next morning, after a long day of brushing, singing and laughing, he doesn’t immediately think that anything is out of the ordinary. It is only when, after a few minutes of rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, stretching his sore limbs, that he realizes exactly what’s unusual. 

Sally’s not here.

His eyes widen at the realization, immediately sitting up and checking overboard for any sort of figure in the vast blue. Nothing. No shapes under the water, not shrill sounds or gurgling like laughs, or even their usual bag tied to the end of the boat, as it used to be, what feels like weeks ago. Nothing at all. 

The panic settling in every inch of his body chases out any remnants of fatigued. He screams her name.

“Sally!” His voice gets lost in the air, and the ocean stays calm. Maybe she couldn’t hear him the first time? He tries again

“ _ SALLY!” _ Much louder this time, but the results are the same. Worry suddenly takes Wilbur over. What if something happened to her? He’ll never know about it. He has no way of ever going to search for her body or asking around for her wellbeing—his eyes water. 

No, he can’t lose her too. He’s barely gotten any time with her, never mind gotten to hold a proper conversation. A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Schlatt’s after a few drinks nagged at him to calm down and to stop getting carried away. He breathes in deeply. That’s fine. Everything might be fine. She might have gotten lost somewhere or still collecting whatever new finding she wanted to show him today. It’s fine. He’ll wait for her.

Grabbing his guitar without talking to her about it almost feels wrong, after weeks on end of the similar routine, but he still managed to slip it in his lap.  _ Singing is how she found me in the first place,  _ he rationalizes,  _ maybe she’ll come back if I sing again.  _ And so, with his heart thundering and stress, making his hands damp, he strums a chord and lets his worries out through the music. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been playing, but his fingers are raw from the strings, and his throat is dry and protesting any kind of noise, and his hope that maybe she’s just lost is slowly fading away. The day had passed at some point, the sun closer to the horizon than it was to the mid sky, and still no sign of Sally. Wilbur doesn’t let himself stop, however, his eyes are aimed at the sky. It is then he hears it.

There’s a familiar voice humming along to his song.

The speed at which he sits up is dizzying, and he’s almost scared he’ll throw up from the motion sickness itself. The sight of familiar sunset hair, however, is a relief, and Wilbur feels his shoulders loosen.

“Sally,” he barely managed, his throat drier than the desert. She smiles at him, a sort of sad smile he wishes to never see again. She moves closer to the boat. He leans over the edge of the boat, and she lets herself be pulled into a bone-crushing hug, in which Wilbur most definitely sheds a few tears into her brushed hair. He doesn’t know how long he stayed like that, holding her close to his heart, but it definitely isn’t enough when she starts squirming to be let go. He releases her.

“Where have you been? I was so worried about you.”

“Wilbur miss Sally?” She questions in a meek voice, her eyes not meeting his. He’s shocked at it.

“What? Of course, I missed you. I love you, Sally. I always miss you when you’re not here.”

She breathes in then moves over to the front of the boat, holding onto it, looking very small and scared. Wil’s heart breaks a bit at the sight.

“Sally- no, I love you, Wilbur” The use of a full grammatical sentence sends worry straight through his back. He shifts to be closer to her.

“I love you too. What’s going on? Please, I want to help.” He reaches out to hold her cheeks, but she darts away ever so slightly as if to avoid his touch. 

“Sally no hurt Wilbur.” She finally decides to say, her eyes meeting his, heartbreak etched into every curve of her face.

“I know Sally” She sniffles. It dawns on him that he’s never seen her cry before, and he doesn’t quite know how to help.

“Say.” 

“What?”

“Say, Sally no hurt Wilbur.” He holds her gaze for a second, searching for an explanation, but eventually folds.

“You won’t hurt me, I know that. I trust you, Sally.” He gives her what is hopefully a reassuring smile. She closes her eyes and nods to herself before sinking into the ocean. He follows her form with his eyes until she disappears from view, anxiety bubbling into his throat. 

He’s still scanning the water when he suddenly spots a dark orange spot rising fast. He barely registers its appearance before whatever it is breaks surface tension in a colossal wave that sends his little boat several meters away. He grabs the edges to avoid falling in the water and ends up curled up inside it.

When the waters finally stabilize, and he dares peek out of his little safety hut, he turns his head at where the source of the wave is, only to be greeted by a terrifying sight.

There swims a creature the like of which Wilbur had neither seen nor ever heard of. Their entire body seemed to be covered in a dark scale-like material that shimmered ever so slightly under the late afternoon sun. The scales ended up in sharp points at the top, similarly to feathers, making the entire being seems sharp and dangerous. What could be assumed as the head was easily 3 times Wilbur’s full size, and from the little he could see from the rest of the almost human-like body, the rest of it followed the same proportions. The only reason Wilbur wasn’t shaking was that the terrifying creature had opened all six of its eyes, and oh.

Wilbur knows those eyes.

Wilbur fell in  _ love  _ with those eyes.

His breath catches in his throat.

“Sally?” he asks, almost timidly. The massive creature tilted its head forward as if nodding, its eyes closing shut as if to prepare for a blow. Wilbur only had one word for her.

“ _ Beautiful.”  _ Her eyes pop open and immediately center on him, and Wil allows himself to smile bigger than he had all day.

“I love you, Sally, it doesn’t matter to me what form you’re in. As long as you’re still the same inside, I’ll love you the same.” Now, Wil might not know Sally’s new anatomy, but the way the smooth scales that were previously pointed outwards (scared, he realizes) smooth out into each other, giving a less jagged appearance. He raises his hands towards her.

“Come here, Sal” She moves forward at an incredible speed and has to hold onto the boat for it to not be swept away by her movements. He sees one of her palms hold the boat, her sharp claw-like fingers wrapping themselves on all sides of the fragile wood, but Wil barely pays attention to it. Carefully, still fearful, she rests her face in between his hands, which come nowhere close to cradling her, but he hopes to bring her comfort anyways.

“There there, Sally, I love you.” He affectionately pats her wet scales. They stay that way until long after the sun disappears in the sky. Then, she pulls back and grins a full-faced grin as she usually does, even if this time, all six of her eyes close and incredibly sharp teeth are displayed innit. Wilbur still thinks she looks beautiful this way.

Then, as if a spell is broken, she stops smiling and her eyes open again, and she sinks into her shoulders, the way she tends to do when she is worried about something.

“Is something wrong, Sally?” She avoids his gaze, looking out to her left as if searching for something in the distant horizon.

“Sally?” He tries again. This seems to make her decide on something. She raises the webbed and sharp hand not currently holding the boat and brings one of her fingers to rest delicately on his forehead. He lets it.

“What’s going on?” This sends her into another round of what he assumes are sobs. He’s grasping at straws here, on how to comfort her.

Gently, he brings the tip of her claw down to his lips and kisses it softly before placing it back on his forehead.

“I trust you, Sally. Whatever you think is best, I want you to do it. I love you remember? Means I trust your judgment.” More sobs. This time, however, it's accompanied by a warm sensation starting at the start of her claw, not unlike the one he had whenever they kissed underwater.

“Sally?” He tries to question before falling unconscious in the boat.

The last thing he remembers is a garbled attempt at the word “Love” and “Miss.”

\--------

This time, when Wil wakes up, he feels like a truck crashed into his body. His body aches in places he wasn’t aware could even ache, and his heartbeat was beating aggressively against his forehead. He groans, lifting an arm to rest against his eyes.

“Oh, you’re finally awake!”

“Oh, that’s good! You’ve been out for a while there, buddy.”

Wilbur has to take a second to actually make sure he heard correctly. When the words finally compute in his brain, he swings his arm away from his face and opens his eyes, ignoring the intense pain such actions caused.

There stood a man taller than he was wide, in an aggressively orange safety vest, leaning over him. Wilbur blinked once. Than twice.

“What?” He barely managed to rasp out, his throat dry. The man’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and he nodded to someone outside of Wilbur’s field of vision.

“Go get the poor lad a glass of water and some painkillers. He looks like he went through hell.” Whoever he talked to seemed to jump on the task, the thundering of his boots against the metal like floor echoing in his skull.

“There.” The man once again fixes his attention on him. “While he’s out getting you what you need, how about you answer some questions for me? Blink once for yes, blink twice for no. Understood?”

Blink.

“Great, then we can start. Are you hurt somewhere?”

A pause. Blink blink.

“Sure, I’ll believe that for now. We’ll get you to a medic soon enough, anyway. Were you shipwrecked?”

Blink.

“Mmh thought so. Do you know for how long?”

Blink blink.

“Not surprising. There haven't been many ships through here recently, so you might have been stuck alone for a very long time. You’re skinny enough to be.”

Blink Blink.

“No? No what? Not very long?”

Nothing.

“Not skinny?”

Nothing.

“...Not alone?”

Blink.

A sigh, “ I hate to tell you this, buddy, but there wasn’t anyone else on the boat with you when we found you.”

Blink

“There wasn’t supposed to be anyone?... Did they die during your trip?”

Blink Blink

A pause.

“...How about you go back to sleep buddy, you still seem a bit tired, ok? I’ll wake you up when Mi’s back with the meds and water.”

And he’s out again.

\------------

Everything that happens directly after that is a blur. Somehow, Wilbur managed to introduce himself to the kind men that found him drifting on a scrap of wood. He also managed to give them Phil’s phone number before passing out again.

The rest of the trip is a blur. The first concrete memory he has is stepping into his home city off of the cargo boat with his guitar, his knife, and the small booklet set he acquired during his trip. He had barely gotten down from the dock when he spotted a familiar trio, blonds and a pink head frantically searching through the crowd. He somehow made eye contact with clear blue ones, watched them light up in joy before his baby brother ran away from the others to throw himself into his weak arms. Wilbur grins.

“Aww, did you miss me, Tommy?” He can’t help but tease, arms wrapping themselves around his chest and holding him close. Whatever the brat answered is muffled in his shirt, and not at all by the tears falling down freely.

By that point, both Phil and Techno had also made their way to him, standing just a little ways away. Wilbur laughs slowly and untangles one arm from his brother's shirt to motion to the other two members to join him. 

Phil does first, walking a bit faster than his usual pace, which is practically sprinting for the man and loops an arm around Wil’s waist, letting the taller’s arms wrap around his shoulder and laying his face in his shoulder. Wil still darts his eyes to his other brother and cocks an eyebrow challengingly, which just makes the smaller smile and shake his head, joining their reunion by lacing his fingers with the brunet on the other side of their father. Phil doesn’t seem to find it enough, however, and pulls Techno with an arm around his waist.

Who knows how long they spend there, holding onto each other until Tommy's sobs have quieted down and Phil’s occasional sniffles have stopped. Li, the cargo man who stayed at his side the most, approaches them and clears his throat.

“While I get the fact that this is very emotional and all, you guys might want to get out of the unloading station before you get hurt.” Wilbur’s the first one who reacts and pulls himself upright, untangling himself from the mass of limbs his family was. He grins at the soldier.

“Thanks for the warning.” The man just laughs and ruffles his long hair.

“Take care of yourself, buddy. Maybe ditch the boat rides for a bit.” He laughs and fistbumps the man, who goes back to his ship to help his coworkers.

Wilbur turned back to his family.

“I don’t know about you, but I haven’t had a real shower in forever, and I smell like it too. Mind if we go home?” Tommy laughs loudly, and Phil chuckles, and Techno rolls his eyes and yeah, now this feels like home.

Tommy immediately grabs his wrist and pulls him in the direction the car must be parked. Wil lets him and listens to his rambling, the other two members trailing behind them. They eventually make it back to the car, and Wil sits in the back, Tommy still clutching his hand firmly.

“...and you should have seen Tubbo’s reaction to his gift Wil, he was so happy, he just started clinging to me even when I told him it wasn’t pog, he wouldn’t let go and-”

“As much as I hate to interrupt you, Tommy,” Phil cuts in while pulling out of the parking lot, “We’re taking a long way home today, so you should make sure you didn’t forget anything.”

“What?” Questioned Wilbur. “Why the long way home?” Everyone turns around or looks in the mirror, in Phil’s case, to stare at him. He just cocks his head to the side. Tommy takes the incentive to answer.

“The normal way passes next to the ocean, you know, and we thought that…” he trails off, letting Wilbur fill in the blanks. Wilbur chuckled at him and ruffled his hair.

“What? That’d I get scared if I saw the ocean?” A nod from all his family. He rolls his eyes, an easy grin on his lips. “Nah, if anything, I love the ocean more now. It’d never hurt me.”

\------------------------

The return to normal after a traumatic event is a slow process that spans many months; everyone in their family knows that. The problem doesn’t rest solely in Wilbur’s new quirks. 

In fact, the lack of PTSD-like actions does raise worry. The therapist Wilbur’s been consulting since his return agrees with the family’s concern and admits that Wil has been dismissive about what exactly happened during his three months missing. He admitted to having found some energy bars and water bottles and having eaten some raw fish, but that’s about it. No explanation for his blood-stained clothes with no wounds to show for it, or his carefully groomed hair or any of his new habits.

While none of the people who care about him want him to have bad reactions, they aren’t going to push it. Wilbur seemed mostly fine, but for his habit of falling asleep with no warning and his constant humming of songs. Most notably, after a day of Wilbur constantly looking incredibly sad, he had managed to go for a walk to the cliffside a few kilometres away and sat down on the ledge.

When Phil first found him there, he panicked, fearing the worst, but Wil merely waved him over to sit next to him while he talked about all the things he had missed during his trip. Afterwards, if Wil wasn’t at the house or with friends, chances were he was sitting on that cliff, in silence, singing on his guitar, or scribbling away in his little book he took everywhere with him.

So all in all, everything was fine for the first month he was back.

Precisely a month after Wilbur’s return, an incredible storm broke over their small suburb. Tommy was upstairs in his room, yelling at one of his friends over a game, Phil was trying to finish some paperwork at the kitchen counter while preparing supper, and Techno was sitting on the floor reading “The Metaphysics of Morals,” having his hair played with by Wilbur, who was definitely not staring outside at the dark sky. His now long hair, which he had refused to cut, was tied in a bun on the top of his head, with occasional curly strands falling out artistically. All was good.

Well, until the doorbell rang, breaking over the calm silence in the house.

Techno and Phil, both suspicious by nature, shot each other wary glances. Who would come over during such a bad storm?

Wilbur licked his lips absentmindedly. “Isn’t someone gonna open that?”

“Why don’t you go?” A soft laugher Techno had missed desperately.

“But I’m in pyjamas Techno, that’s not proper attire at all.” Indeed, his salmon imprint cotton bottoms would not make itself appropriate for such a situation.

The bell rings again.

“Techno, could you get it? I don’t want to risk burning dinner,” Phil, ever the wise one, called out. Techno grunted but left his book to the side. The half started braid falling out of Wilbur’s hands as he got up.

He opens the door, only to be greeted by a strange sight. A young woman was dressed in an orange and red tank top, with matching pants, only to reveal shoeless feet. Her hair rivalled his in length, falling down her back in obviously cared for orange waves, matching her bright eyes. She smiled at him with pearly white teeth, which felt ever too sharp to Techno’s trained eyes. Strike one

“Hello!” She greets, her tone excessively sweet, seemingly uncaring for the rain falling down on her in torrent. Strike two.

“Hello,” he greets back with a nod, weirded out by the entire situation. She’s still smiling.

“Wilbur, here?” She slowly asks, as if the question took much effort out of her. He nods tentatively. She grins back but doesn’t say anything else. They stayed in silence for an entire 10 seconds before Techno had enough. Strike three.

“Look, I don’t know what you want with him, lady, but you’re gonna have to come back when it’s not raining.” He makes to close the door, but her hand comes and holds it open, panic visible in her eyes. He glares at her, with no effect. She seems to be considering something before appearing to decide something. She straightens herself and screeches a loud and piercing sound. Techno has to stop and hold his ears, and he hears things crashing in his home. He grabs the door, content to simply smash it closed, only to have it blocked from behind him.

There, his less annoying brother is holding the door firmly opened, pyjamas out in the open, hair falling out of his bun and hope in his eyes.

Wilbur’s eyes gleam with an emotion he can’t quite explain, and he grins wide, staring at the human version of his friend, who’s smiling just as wide.

“Hello, Sally,” He manages to get out, over the pure joy building in his chest. She gurgles back before answering.

“Hello, Wilbur!” She waves her hand in the way he taught her all those weeks ago. It’s enough to jumpstart him.

He laughs out loud and launches himself at her, grabbing her by the waist in a bone-crushing hug and twirls her around in the rain. She giggles loudly and wraps her arms around his neck as she often did and pushes her nose in his neck. Now, this is the definition of joy. 

He eventually stops twirling them around, letting her back down so that he may hold her cheeks. She giggles and does the same, their foreheads meet, and orange meets brown after too long apart.

“Love you.” 

“I love you too.”

_ They’ll be ok. _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Hope you like me fic. First fic i've published in half a decade so eh, probably shows! Feel free to comment or suggest more Salbur ideas! Much Love~


End file.
